


no better love

by TheDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Era, Getting Together, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Merlioske-friendly, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/pseuds/TheDragon
Summary: Wherein Arthur falls victim to yet another love potion, except this time, it has him setting his sights on Merlin.Cue lots of heartbreak, angst, and pining.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 410
Collections: Merlin Bingo





	no better love

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [lovelyal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyal) for the beta ♥️
> 
> Warnings in the end notes

Nothing in Merlin’s life has ever been more memorable than the moment Arthur first kissed him. The press of his lips against Merlin’s own, one hand curled around Merlin’s cheek and the other around his waist…

It felt like a dream, all the kisses and touches and shared breaths. Merlin had imagined it happening for so long that he failed to notice something was amiss. How could he have with the distracting weight of Arthur’s body pushing him up against the wall, his thigh pressing in between Merlin’s, and his fingers tugging at his hair in a way that sent bolts of pleasure racing down his spine?

And the kisses. Gods, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget how it felt to have Arthur’s lips trail across his jaw and down his neck. It was the first time he felt so cherished, so _loved_ , and now, to find out that none of it was real…

It felt like a dream come true, and now that dream has turned into a nightmare.

"You're going to need to attend to him eventually, you know," Gaius says from where he's standing in the doorway to Merlin's room. "You can't keep hiding here forever."

"Watch me," Merlin grumbles, not bothering to turn around and face him. How can he look Gaius in the eye after… after… Gods, he can't even think about it without wanting to bawl his eyes out. Already, there are tears welling in his eyes, spilling down his temples, soaking into his pillows. "Just. Tell him I'm sick. And if he wants to see me, tell him I don't want him catching it."

"Merlin," Gaius says with a sigh. Merlin pulls a pillow over his head, making it clear that he doesn't want to talk. Thankfully, Gaius understands. With one last resigned sigh, he turns around and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Of _course,_ Merlin is going to have to face Arthur eventually. He knows that. He's perfectly aware that he can't hide in his room forever.

But, he needs some time to himself after everything that's happened, and seeing Arthur would only make him feel worse than he already does, no matter that none of this is Arthur’s fault. If anything, it's _Merlin's_ for not seeing the signs, for… for taking _advantage_.

He feels sick to his stomach, and the worst thing is, the person he would usually go to for comfort can't be there for him.

~oOo~

When Arthur opens his eyes only to be faced with the sight of Gaius's chambers, the first thought that goes through his head is, _That can't be right_.

The last thing he remembers is eating breakfast in his own rooms, delivered to him not by Merlin who was once again skiving off, but a young maidservant he had never had the pleasure of encountering before. He can still see the disappointed expression on her face when he sent her away before digging into his food. How could he have gone from that to this in the blink of an eye?

Judging by the light, it's already well into the afternoon—he should be back in his chambers now, either going over a speech or eating dinner, not sitting in a chair in Gaius's chambers. Did he get hit in the head? Is that why he can't remember anything?

Carefully, Arthur lifts both hands to his head to check for injuries. He comes up with nothing—not a bruise, not a scratch nor a scrape—and yet… he can't remember what brought him here in the first place. Arthur stands up from his seat at the table and looks around, searching for…

He’s not actually sure _what_ it is he's searching for, but he knows that whatever it is, it’s not here. Gaius’s chambers contain nothing of interest save the empty flask lying on its side atop the table, occasionally dripping some odd-smelling, thick substance onto the wood.

The door to Merlin's room is closed, and neither he nor Gaius are present, so why is Arthur here? What reason could he have to have sat here alone?

Arthur shakes his head. He needs to find Merlin—if anyone will be able to make some sense of all of this, it’ll be him. He shouldn't be too hard to find, considering that his chores usually put him in Arthur's chambers at this time of day.

Unless he's off drinking his weight in alcohol at the tavern again. Arthur will string him up by his ridiculously large ears if that's the case. He shakes his head once in an attempt to clear it, then stalks over to the door and opens it, fully intent on scouring the castle in search of Merlin.

Right before it falls shut behind him, Arthur could swear he hears someone sob.

~oOo~

Merlin has been avoiding him.

This has never happened before, not once in their almost decade-long friendship. Sure, there were times when Arthur acted like too much of a—dare he say it—prat, and there were other times when he let his temper get the better of him, but never once has Merlin gone out of his way to avoid him like this.

Gaius claims he's ill. Arthur thinks it's bollocks.

For one, he's seen Merlin running around the courtyard, hefting water there and back or delivering medicine. Two, he has it on good authority that Merlin's been seen with the knights regularly, so clearly, it's Arthur he has a problem with.

Except, Arthur has no idea what he could have done to deserve this. _Really_. He's been behaving no worse than he usually does—better, if anything. He hasn't told Merlin to muck out the stables _once_ within the span of the last month; he even went so far as to invite him to eat dinner together in Arthur's chambers!

Everything was going so well, last Arthur checked. The last time he saw Merlin, it was all grins and laughter and fun. And now…

He has no idea what he could possibly have done wrong, especially since he doesn't remember seeing Merlin since then.

And yet, for some reason, Merlin is avoiding him.

It's infuriating, but more than that, it _hurts_ , and Arthur has no idea how to fix it considering Merlin won't see him or talk to him, which is ironic considering _he's_ always the one advising Arthur to talk about his feelings.

Arthur wonders whether it might have something to do with the few days worth of memories he's missing. He's tried asking around—discreetly, of course—hoping some of the knights or courtiers would be able to tell him what went on, but what he learned amounted to very little.

It was, apparently, one of the most boring weeks to grace Camelot in a long time—no storms, no fires, no droughts. No attacks, magical or otherwise. Nothing happened that could be considered out of the norm.

Except for the fact that apparently, he and Merlin kept sneaking out into the woods at odd times of day, though no one he spoke to considered that particularly odd.

In any case, whatever wrong he did to Merlin must have occurred during one of those trips, which means that Merlin is the only person who actually _knows_ what Arthur did, and since Merlin doesn't want to see him, that puts him right back to square one.

He needs to find a way to corner Merlin, and then with a bit of luck, he’ll be able to repair this rift that’s grown between them.

~oOo~

Cornering Merlin, however, is easier said than done. He's surprisingly stealthy when he wants to be; it's almost as though he knows _exactly_ where Arthur is going to pop up. And sure, Merlin knows his schedule by heart considering he’s the person who always keeps it in order, but somehow, he’s managing to make himself scarce even when Arthur goes out of his way not to stick to it.

Frankly, it's really starting to get on Arthur's nerves.

What's worse, he's barely had a moment of peace these last few days. His time has been spent attending training and various council meetings, and then there are his nights, which have been…

He's been having odd dreams and can’t remember the last time he managed to sleep through the night. Arthur can never quite remember them come morning, but he always wakes up covered in sweaty, rumpled sheets and with his skin flushed like he was out running rather than lying immobile in his bed.

There's odd sensations too. Sometimes, he could swear he feels someone's lips pressing against the skin of his neck, and every so often, he wakes to the feeling of being entwined in someone's arms, of that someone lying pressed flush against his back.

He has no idea what it means, if it _does_ mean anything. And what's worse, sometimes, while he's awake, there are these _moments_ where he's sure he's done something before, or been somewhere before, and yet he's certain that can’t be true. What reason could he have had to lie down with Merlin at the edge of the training field? Or spend hours wandering around the marketplace looking for the perfect gift to get him for the anniversary of his birth?

Neither of those are things he remembers ever doing, and yet the feeling that accompanies the faux-memories is something akin to pleasure.

Joy? Bliss?

The worst part is, those not-quite memories only make him miss Merlin more.

His temper is getting worse by the day, and Arthur is fully aware of that fact. He really _is_ trying to be patient, but sometimes, the servant who has (temporarily) taken over Merlin's duties can be a bit much. George, his name is, and he's horribly efficient at everything he does. Arthur's chambers have never been more immaculate, his dinner never so perfectly served, his clothing so painstakingly chosen.

It's strange. And more than that, it's annoying.

Maybe, were he in a better mood, Arthur would find it hilarious how much he's gotten used to Merlin's particular brand of incompetence. As it stands, all the differences only serve to highlight his absence. Arthur misses the little things Merlin did for him, like making sure there were fresh flowers in the vase, or that his bath water was always hot as can be, or how he drew his fingers along the length of Arthur's arms when he finished dressing him, or the times he brought Arthur a slice of his favourite pie for desert whenever he was feeling down, or…

There are so many ways Merlin showed him he cared. Arthur could go on listing them forever. He's always been grateful, though he may not have always shown it, but he's never appreciated them as much as he does now that they're gone.

Not even making a mess of his chambers satisfies him anymore since Merlin won’t be there to see the results. Nor will he be there to _clean_ the results, and Arthur has already given George enough grief. Frankly, he would prefer not to have to deal with a different servant at all, but considering how long Merlin has been gone, and assuming he has no plans to return anytime soon…

As unfortunate as it is, Arthur does need someone to get his rooms in order, even if that someone is George.

~oOo~

It should be humiliating just how quickly his heart starts to beat whenever he catches sight of anything the colour of Merlin's neckerchief or of someone with short, black hair wearing a brown suede jacket. More than once, Arthur ends up bursting into a run, wanting to catch whatever person is wearing those particular clothes, hoping against all hope that it's Merlin.

And yet it never is.

Even his knights have started to catch on to something being wrong. Arthur doesn't think he's been behaving too differently—and all right, maybe he _has_ been a little more strict than necessary during training, and yes, he _has_ declined invitations to get drunk at the Rising Sun, but he does that every once in a while, doesn't he?

"Not with quite this frequency, princess," Gwaine says, clapping him on the back. "We always get you to agree sooner or later, but lately you've been walking around in too much of a strop to actually agree to _anything_. Lovers’ quarrel?"

"I. No. What?" Arthur asks, completely confused. He lets the blunt training sword drop to the ground at his feet.

"You and Merlin," Gwaine says. "Lovers’ quarrel?"

"We're not lovers!" Arthur exclaims, throwing up his arms. "Look, I don't know where you got the idea, but—"

"Oh, come off it. The two of you are always hanging off each other; it’s nothing short of a miracle when the two of you spend more than an hour apart! And now you're telling me there's nothing going on between you?" Gwaine's words are _dripping_ with disbelief, and yes, all right, looking at it that way, Arthur can understand why people would assume, but…

"We're just friends," Arthur says, fighting back a snarl.

"Sure you are. And I'm secretly married to Percival's cat," Gwaine replies with a deadpan stare.

"Percival has a cat?"

"You’re missing the point. The point is, he's miserable, and you're miserable, and clearly you two must have gotten into a fight of some sort, so why not spend a relaxing evening at the tavern? Play some games, drink some ale, see some women."

Gwaine looks entirely too innocent, with his wide eyes and guileless smile. Arthur doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him.

"What's in it for you?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

Gwaine dramatically puts his hand over his heart and swoons. "You hurt me so! You dare suggest I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my own heart?"

"Yes." Arthur looks past him and at the other knights, who are standing all lined up, looking at the two of them with hopeful expressions. "Oh all right, fine," Arthur grumbles. "But only for _one_ mug of ale. I have a council meeting early in the morning and I can't be dealing with a hangover."

Gwaine whoops with joy, throwing his fist up in the air. Arthur rolls his eyes when he turns around, giving the others a thumbs up. "The project is a go!"

Gwaine has never been good at keeping secrets. Before the night is over, Arthur will know _all_ about what it is exactly that his men intended to accomplish by luring him out to the tavern. For now, though, he'll play along, especially since he's likely to get a bit of fun out of it.

After all, there's nothing that could go wrong with a quick trip to the tavern, right?

~oOo~

Wrong.

He was so very wrong.

Well, maybe not _entirely_ wrong, but the fact that this is most assuredly _not_ how he meant for the night to turn out still stands.

"He won't talk to me," Arthur moans into the table as Gwaine pats him on the back. "I don't even know what I did!"

"That's it, get it all out of your system," Gwaine says, swapping Arthur's empty mug for a new one, filled to the brim with delicious, golden ale. Arthur immediately sits up, doing his best to ignore the vertigo, and grabs it. A second later, half of the contents of the mug are down his throat. Its burn makes his eyes water.

"So you're saying it's _Merlin_ who's at fault here?" Gwaine asks. He's looking down at Arthur with something akin to pity in his eyes, but that can't be right because Gwaine doesn't _do_ pity.

"Not fault," Arthur protests. "It's not Merlin's fault. I must have… must have _done_ something, but he won't even tell me what I did!"

Is it just him or is the world starting to blur right before his eyes? Arthur takes his hand off the mug to wipe at them, hoping that'll be enough for everything to come back into focus.

The mug gets taken away in an instant, and Gwaine pays no heed to Arthur's protests.

"As much as I hate to say it—actually, I don't think I've _ever_ sunk so low as to have said this—you've had enough to drink." Gwaine hands the ale over to Leon, who puts it on another table, a safe distance away from Arthur's grabby hands.

"You can't take my ale! I'm the king!" Arthur yells, affronted, because how _dare_ they?! He's barely had _anything_ to drink—only one or two or five tiny mugs spread out over the course of the evening. And his words aren't slurring at all, so really, there's no reason for people to be taking his alcohol away!

"Of course, Your Majesty," Gwaine says, offering him a pitying smile. The mug comes back, but it’s full of a clear substance rather than the golden one he wanted. Arthur glares at Gwaine and tries to give it back, but his fingers won't quite uncurl from the handle now.

"Ale," Arthur insists.

"Water first," Gwaine says, and this really _is_ a night of firsts, isn't it? Arthur has never seen Gwaine be responsible in his _life_. He really hopes he'll remember this come morning so that he'll be able to hold it over his head. "So, Merlin…"

"What about him?" Arthur grumbles in between sips of water.

"Well, he's not faring any better than you, for a start," Gwaine says, and that doesn't make Arthur feel better at all. "But he won't tell me what happened, either."

Arthur sniffles, looking into his mug. "I miss him."

He startles when Gwaine wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into a side hug. "I know."

"I've been having _dreams_ about him," Arthur says with a huff. Alcohol does wonders for lowering his inhibitions, it would seem. "But I don't want the dreams. I want _him_."

Gwaine sighs, but he doesn't pull away. Patting Arthur's shoulder, he says, "We'll fix this, don't worry. You won't have to put up with this for much longer."

Arthur hums, putting his head back on the table and closing his eyes.

The next time he opens them is when someone's hauling him up from his seat at the table.

"Come on, dollophead. Let's get you home," the person says. It's funny—they sound just like Merlin. He tells them as much, rolling his head onto their shoulder and burying his nose in their neckerchief. The world tilts and tips and lists around him, turning this way and that. Maybe someone cast a spell and magically turned him into a wheel?

He tells the person that too and is rewarded with a chuckle. His laughter is uncannily reminiscent of Merlin’s, right down to the soft disbelieving huff at the beginning.

It's been over a week since he last heard Merlin laugh, since he heard the sound of his voice. Arthur misses him like he imagines he would miss a limb, with his whole, entire being.

It's excruciating, being so near Merlin, yet so far from him at the same time. Arthur just wants him back.

The man sighs and fixes his grip on Arthur's arm, which he has draped over his shoulders. "It hurts me too. Now come on, we need to get you to bed. Gods, you're going to be insufferable in the morning."

Arthur nods in agreement, barely comprehending the words that were said to him. He lets the man pull him out of the tavern and into the cold, night air.

"Wh're we goin'?" he mumbles into the neckerchief. Not that it matters. The man's voice is nice, and he smells good; Arthur would follow him to the ends of the world if need be.

"Don't worry, you're not going to have to walk _that_ far. Just to the castle." The man laughs again, and all of Arthur's muscles and bones feel like they've just melted. "They haven't. You're just drunk."

"They have," Arthur insists, fighting to put his free arm around the man's waist just to prove his point. "See?"

"Of course, Sire." Arthur can't quite bring himself to look up, but he's sure the man just rolled his eyes. It should be annoying and insulting, but instead, it makes Arthur feel warm.

"W'll Merlin be at th' castle?" he asks, tightening his grip on the man and pulling them to a stop, refusing to let go until he gets an answer. The man sighs, leaning his cheek against the top of Arthur's head.

"He will."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Arthur. I'm going to kill Gwaine for getting you this drunk." And with that, the cheek is removed, and they're walking again. Arthur does his best not to trip over the cobblestone streets.

He spaces out after that, wondering what he's going to say to Merlin when he finally sees him—because the stranger promised, didn't he? He would finally see Merlin again after missing him for _so long_.

"It's barely been two weeks, you dollophead." The man sighs, sounding entirely too weary. "But I suppose I've missed you, too."

Before he knows it, Arthur is back in his chambers, being sat down on his bed while the man skitters about the room, lighting candles, looking for clean clothes, a jug of water, and a bucket, though Arthur isn't sure what the last item is for, or even why it's placed beside the bed.

"It's for when you inevitably feel ill."

But he feels just fine! A little hazy and very off-balance, but other than that? He's never felt so great in his life!

"Give it an hour and I promise you'll change your mind."

The man kneels before him, taking off first one boot, then the other. He eases Arthur's belt out of the loops, and replaces his trousers and tunic with clean ones. Arthur lets himself be pushed back onto the bed and covered with the duvet. He sinks into the soft pillow and sighs with pleasure as the man brushes his hair back from his face, his touch more tender than anything Arthur has ever known, oddly reminiscent of… of…

"Just go to sleep, Arthur," he says, taking his hand away, replacing the warmth of his touch with cool air.

"Stay?" Arthur asks, reaching out for him, but the man darts away from his touch, looking pained.

"I can't," he says, not looking Arthur in the eye. "I. I can't."

And then he's walking away, out the door, leaving Arthur feeling more lonely than he's ever felt before.

~oOo~

Waking up can only be described as 'an experience'. The second he's conscious again, Arthur throws his head over the side of the bed and rids his stomach of all its contents. It helps calm the roiling, nauseous feeling, but only just. And his head. _God_ , his head! It feels like someone took a hammer to it.

Maybe they did? Arthur's recollection of the previous evening is scarce. He's really getting tired of all the gaps in his memory, though to be fair, last night was entirely his fault. Well, his and the knights'.

Actually, more the knights' than his. He really should have left after that first ale. It would have been better for everyone involved.

And by ‘everyone’ he means ‘him’, since he remembers telling Gwaine things about Merlin that he never would have dared to say otherwise. It'll be a miracle if Gwaine ever lets him live this down. Maybe if he's lucky, Gwaine will have forgotten all about Arthur's troubles and woes by the next time they see each other.

He sincerely doubts it'll happen, but he can hope.

Arthur distantly wonders if he could get away with spending the morning in bed. The council won't be happy about it, but really, he's spent the last few days running himself ragged. Is a few hours to himself too much to ask for? Besides, it's not like he's in any state to get up right now. Arthur resolves to just lie still and wait for George. He’ll ask him to get Arthur something for his hangover. Judging by what little light is coming in through the curtains, it's already morning, so hopefully he won't have to wait long.

Arthur drops back down onto the bed with a sigh and closes his eyes. He’s asleep by the time his head touches the pillow.

When he opens them next, it's because someone is pulling back the curtains and opening the windows.

"Fetch Gaius," Arthur mumbles into his pillow. "Tell the council I'm indisposed."

"It's already done. And I brought you something for your head."

That's… that's not George. Suddenly, Arthur is wide awake and sitting up, blinking his eyes in Merlin's general direction.

"You're back," he says in disbelief, looking Merlin up from head to toe, taking in the sight of him.

"Yeah," Merlin replies, a smile quirking his lips. It looks out of place, what with the deep bags under his eyes, but Arthur will take what he can get.

"Right." What does he do now? Does he… does he tell Merlin to get started on his chores? Does he ask why Merlin kept away for so long? Does he—"

"I've brought up your breakfast and a pitcher of fresh water," Merlin says before Arthur has the chance to put his foot in his mouth. "They're on the table. The tonic is next to your plate."

"Thank you," Arthur says. He reaches forwards, stretching the muscles in his arms, and staggers to his feet. Moving makes him feel _worse_ , if that's even possible, and Arthur's walk over to the table takes far longer than it should. He's all too aware of Merlin's eyes following him.

Breakfast is an amalgamation of all of his favourites—there's fresh, dense bread, pickled eggs, bacon, and a small bowl of gooseberries, though Arthur doesn't know where Merlin could have gotten them so late in the season. He expected to be given a sausage or two, maybe some fruit if he got lucky, but this…

It almost feels like an apology, though Arthur has no idea what for. He sighs.

"Do you want some of this?" he asks when the silence in the room threatens to become deafening.

"What?" Merlin asks from somewhere behind him, sounding like he for the life of him can't imagine why Arthur would be making such an offer.

"Just sit _down_ , Merlin," Arthur says, rolling his eyes even though Merlin can't see.

It takes a bit of shuffling and stalling, but finally, Merlin plops down in the chair across from him, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here. Arthur gives him a minute to get comfortable and grab some food before speaking.

"Where have you been?" he asks, not taking his eyes off Merlin's face.

Merlin pales and sinks down into his chair. "I've been ill," he says. He's never been a good liar; Arthur doesn't know why he bothers lying now when Arthur can _clearly_ see how red his cheeks and ears and neck are turning.

"Right. So ill that you still managed to keep working for Gaius, and yet you couldn't be bothered to come in and check on me once." Arthur leans back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I didn't want you to get sick as well," Merlin mumbles, looking down at his hands and pulling on his fingers.

"How kind of you to worry about my health, though I do wonder why you didn't share this concern when it came to the health of other people. Like the knights, for example—Gwaine in particular."

"Arthur, look…" Merlin starts to say, but Arthur quickly cuts him off.

"I never thought you'd be so bold as to lie to my face," Arthur says, pushing his chair away from the table and standing up. When Merlin opens his mouth, he adds, "If you're thinking of lying again, don't bother."

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispers, still keeping his eyes on his hands. He looks so much smaller than he did just a moment ago, his eyes glistening with tears Arthur pretends not to see.

"Are you coming back to work?" Arthur changes the topic swiftly, unable to bear seeing Merlin looking so despondent.

"I— yes." Merlin stumbles to his feet, breakfast forgotten. "Yes, I'm coming back. I _have_ come back."

"Good," Arthur says with a nod. "I'd like a bath prepared, but don't put in any of those fancy oils. Then you can get to work on tidying up my chambers, washing my clothes, polishing my armour, mucking out my horses, and writing my speech for the meeting with the merchant's guild."

Merlin blinks at him a few times, but he nods his head before Arthur can ask if he got everything. That Merlin doesn't even _try_ to argue the amount of work is disconcerting, to say the least. It almost makes Arthur want to ask him if everything is all right.

Distantly, he wonders when this conversation got so turned around. He wanted to make things right between them, but now that he’s been faced with Merlin himself, with his _lies_ … It's starting to feel like things between them will never be the same again.

"Why _did_ you come back," he asks Merlin, turning away from him so that he doesn't have to see his face. "Why didn't you—" _Why didn't you stay gone?_

"Because I missed you," Merlin replies quietly. "I didn't want to stay away any longer."

"Right," Arthur says, closing his eyes. "You missed me. Right." Excuse him if he finds that hard to believe.

"I did!" Merlin insists, walking up behind him. Arthur shivers when Merlin's breath ghosts over the back of his neck, and he's hit with a wave of longing so fierce that it almost brings him to his knees.

Longing and _familiarity_ , though he has no idea where the latter could have come from.

"Look," Merlin continues, completely ignorant of what's going through Arthur's head. "I shouldn't have avoided you like that. Gwaine says you think it's your fault, but it's _not_. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I was being stupid, and… Yeah. I was being stupid."

The sheer, overwhelming relief he feels threatens to swamp him. The tension drains out of all of Arthur's muscles at once, and he has to grab hold of his desk to keep himself on his feet.

"So it _wasn't_ anything I did?" he asks, tightening his grip on the wood so much that his skin turns white with the strain. All this time, he thought… he thought _he'd_ been the one to unknowingly push Merlin away.

"No, of course not! I never wanted you to think that!" Merlin exclaims, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders and forcibly turning him around. His eyes are a bit red, but the expression on his face is fierce, and if Arthur had any doubts at all as to what Merlin just said, they're gone now.

"Then what was it?" he asks, his own gaze darting from one of Merlin's eyes to the other, searching for an answer. "Why did you stay away?"

"Because…" Merlin trails off with an entirely too sad sigh. "Look, I don't want to lie to you, but I also don't want to talk about this. Can we just pretend it never happened?" Merlin asks, his voice growing smaller by the word.

Arthur is hesitant to agree. Something must have happened to have kept Merlin from his side for so long, something important, no doubt, and after all these days of suffering he's had to go through, he thinks he deserves an answer.

The expression on Merlin's face, however, tells him he isn't going to be getting one anytime soon, if at all.

"Go do your chores, Merlin," Arthur says, carefully extricating himself from Merlin's grip, though not without offering up a small smile. "I really would appreciate that bath."

"I'll get right to it," Merlin replies with a smile of his own. His hands hover in front of him for a second, as if he's unsure of what to do with them, but then he turns on his heel and scrambles out of the room.

~oOo~

Things get better after that, if not good.

Merlin shows up to work on time, always does all of the chores Arthur assigns him—and Arthur is man enough to admit that he _has_ been assigning him more jobs than is strictly necessary—and never once complains. He's behaving nothing short of a perfect servant, and it grates on Arthur's nerves like nothing else.

It's as though Merlin and George switched personalities overnight.

He selfishly wants the old Merlin back, the one that complained and joked and laughed and talked; the man currently sweeping his floors feels like a stranger, and Arthur _hates_ it. Sometimes, in his darker moments, he wonders if it would have been better if Merlin just stayed gone.

He doesn't like that train of thought, and he tries to avoid it whenever possible. To his chagrin, it doesn't always work.

Arthur is almost tempted to bury his woes in another five mugs of ale—or a jug of wine, since that's easier to get delivered to his chambers, with the added benefit of being stronger. Unfortunately, his stomach, the traitorous little thing, has taken to voicing its protests whenever he gets so much as a _whiff_ of alcohol.

Best to keep away from that line of thought as well lest he turn into another Gwaine; one of him is already enough.

Speaking of Gwaine, he seems to have taken a page out of Merlin's book because Arthur hasn't seen hide nor hair of him since the night at the tavern. He hasn't even bothered to show up to training, no matter how many people Arthur sent to fetch him.

Apparently, Gwaine is a hard man to find these days. Arthur would be more annoyed, except the thing with Merlin has him too exhausted to think about anything else.

He's been getting all these thoughts lately, and he's not entirely sure where they're coming from. He's caught himself staring at Merlin for a little too long, admiring the bow of his lips or the curve of his arse when his breeches stretch across it. It's gotten to the point that he thinks Merlin's _ears_ , of all things, are _endearing_.

His _ears_.

It's driving him up the wall, and frankly, Merlin's attitude is making this thing so much worse than it has to be. Arthur tries to take comfort in the fact that at least he's showing up for work.

He wishes he could fix this rift that's opened up between them, but he doesn't know how, because Merlin won't tell him the truth about what caused it. The one time Arthur questioned him about his missing memories, Merlin paled so quickly that Arthur thought he was going to faint. He backed off.

It's proof enough that something _did_ happen between them.

Arthur sighs, placing his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. All this tension has been giving him headache after headache, and he's loath to go see Gaius about it again. He doesn't know how long he sits there with his eyes closed, trying to will away the pain, when someone's cold fingers touch the back of his neck. Arthur jumps.

"Sorry," Merlin says, but he doesn't remove his hands. Instead, he moves them up, trailing his fingers through Arthur's hair until they reach the top of his head. Arthur closes his eyes and presses back into the touch with a groan. "Do you want me to get you a tonic?"

"No," Arthur says, looking up at Merlin's face. He puts one of his hands over Merlin's when it seems like Merlin is going to back away. "Just… stay like that for a bit."

Merlin bites down on his lower lip, but he doesn't protest. After a moment, his fingers start moving over Arthur's scalp in tiny circles, and he can practically _feel_ the tension draining away.

"You haven't been sleeping," Merlin says after a few minutes of this. He moves closer, and Arthur can feel the warmth of his body along the line of his back.

"Sleep has been hard to come by recently," he admits, taking the opportunity to stretch out his arms and wincing when his joints crack. He's pleasantly surprised when Merlin's hands make their way down to his shoulders and start kneading the muscles there.

His touch is so tender, so _familiar_ , even though this is the first time he's done something like this. Merlin is smiling down at him softly, all of his previous hesitance gone. He looks so soft and warm, so _loving_ —it makes Arthur want to lean up and kiss him.

So he does. Merlin's face is so close to his own that it barely requires any effort on Arthur's part to surge up and capture his lips in a kiss. It's exhilarating, the feel of Merlin's mouth against him, the warm wetness he finds as he licks inside, Merlin opening for him easily, readily.

It's the moan that does it. The second it leaves Arthur's lips, Merlin's eyes open wide and he scrambles away in a flurry of limbs.

"What _was_ that?!" he asks, bringing his hand up to wipe at lips, looking… looking…

 _Disgusted_ , Arthur realises, his heart sinking. Merlin looks disgusted.

Arthur grits his teeth and turns back around to face his desk. The tension that Merlin worked so hard to leech from him is back, bunching up his muscles and raising his shoulders up ever so slightly.

"Nothing," he spits out, struggling to fight back the tears. He hasn't cried since he was a child, and he has no intention of doing so now, no matter how much Merlin's rejection hurts.

"Nothing?" Merlin repeats, his voice cold as ice. _Colder_ than ice; Arthur can't bear the sound of it. "You kissed me."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Arthur snarls, clenching his fingers around the edge of the desk and cursing himself for losing control like that, for giving in to his wants and desires.

But he'd been so _sure_ …

"You're dismissed," he tells Merlin, bowing his head so that he doesn't have to see Merlin's face as he rounds the desk. "Don't bother attending to me tomorrow."

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaims, slamming his hands down onto the desk and knocking Arthur's quill down to the floor. "I want an explanation!"

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not required to give one," Arthur snipes back, feeling defensive. "Just… leave me."

It takes a while, like maybe Merlin is trying to wait him out, but then he must finally realise that Arthur is in no mood to talk, because he takes his hands off the desk, turns on his heel, and walks out.

The door slams shut behind him with an air of finality.

~oOo~

He spends the evening trying to come up with an appropriate apology. One would think that—what with him being the king and all—words would come to him more easily.

They do when he has to make speeches or announcements or the like, just not when he has to talk about his feelings. He uses up far too much parchment and ink, trying to at least get _something_ down because Merlin was right, he _does_ deserve an explanation, and even if he won't want to see Arthur, maybe he'll at least be willing to read a letter in lieu of having a conversation.

Maybe he should have put in the effort and tried to talk about this right after the kiss, but he was so hurt by Merlin's rejection that he could barely speak past the lump in his throat. Which is why he's writing, though he's starting to think that he should have left it to the morning, once he's had a bit of time to himself.

Arthur throws the quill down onto the desk, narrowly avoiding spilling the remaining ink. Once he's closed the lid of the inkwell and thrown the crumpled up parchment into the fire, he goes about getting himself ready for bed, telling himself that he's not aching for Merlin's touch when the time comes to change into his nightclothes.

Arthur walks around the room, extinguishing the candles one by one and adding a few logs of wood to the slowly dying fire. When he's certain he isn't going to freeze overnight, he wanders off towards his bed and collapses on top of it, not bothering to climb in under the covers.

Maybe his dreams will be kinder to him than reality.

~oOo~

_"You're going to get food all over our clothes." Merlin laughs, darting out of his reach. Arthur runs after him, making a half-hearted attempt to catch him. He smiles when Merlin trips over his own two feet and lands on their picnic blanket with a grunt._

_"I suppose I'll have to order my manservant to wash out the stains," he says, throwing himself down next to Merlin. What remains of the pastries they brought along with them is a mess—they're lying all broken up atop the plate, jam_ everywhere _, including Arthur's fingers and the corner of Merlin's lips._

_Arthur brings one of his fingers up to Merlin's mouth and laughs when Merlin licks the jam off of it, his tongue warm and wet against Arthur's skin._

_"What?" Merlin asks, his eyes twinkling. "You said I was to clean off the stains!"_

_Removing his finger, Arthur lifts himself up off the blanket and straddles Merlin. When he leans down for a kiss, Merlin shoves the remains of a pastry in his face._

_"Hey!" Arthur exclaims, blindly searching for a napkin to wipe it off with. Merlin takes the opportunity to roll them over, and—_

_—Arthur lands on his back on the soft mattress, Merlin pressed up along his side, his head placed on the hollow of Arthur's shoulder rather than a pillow. When Arthur shifts, making to get off the bed, Merlin throws his leg over one of Arthur's to keep him in place._

_"We need to get up," Arthur admonishes, trying to sound stern. Merlin only clutches him closer._

_"Five more minutes," he pleads, winding his arm around Arthur's waist so that he can't squirm away, fingers brushing over the sliver of skin that was revealed when Arthur's tunic rode up. "I never get to have a lie in."_

_"I have a council meeting to get to," Arthur groans, but he doesn't try getting up again. Why would he, when he has all he could ever want right here in bed with him? He doesn't remember the last time he felt so completely at peace._

_He could stay here all day. He_ would _stay here all day, but he's parched to the point that his throat is beginning to ache._

_"I need to get something to drink," he says, trying and failing to extricate himself from Merlin's grip._

_"There's a goblet of water on the nightstand," Merlin says. He sits up and leans over Arthur, reaching out for it. Arthur takes the goblet from him with a smile and puts it to his lips—_

_—the potion is vile, but Merlin said he needs to drink it, and so Arthur does. It burns as it goes down his throat. The taste of it lingers in his mouth._

_"There you go," Merlin says. There are tears in his eyes and more streaming down his cheeks. Arthur reaches up, wanting to wipe them away, but Merlin flinches back._

_Arthur doesn't know what he's done wrong._

_"Stay here for a minute," Merlin says, his eyes darting all over Arthur's face, almost as if he's trying to commit him to memory—but that can't be right, can it? Merlin isn't going anywhere, and neither is Arthur, so why would he… "I'll be right back."_

_Arthur can do nothing but sit in silence as Merlin rushes up the stairs to his room and shuts the door behind him. His head starts swimming, so he closes his eyes. When he opens them again—_

_—he's stuck looking at an empty vial lying on the table, wondering how in the world he got to Gaius's chambers in the first place._

~oOo~

Merlin almost dies of fright when the door slams open so hard that it hits the wall. In the doorway, looking every bit the sovereign, stands Arthur. Merlin doesn't get the chance to get a single word out before Arthur is striding towards him, his steps hurried and purposeful, his expression so full of fury that it would have a lesser man cowering.

"You lied to me!" Arthur exclaims, grabbing Merlin by the front of his tunic and pulling him to his feet. Merlin is barely afforded the chance to get his feet under him before Arthur is turning them both around and Merlin's back hits the wall.

"I didn't lie to you about anything," he insists, grabbing at Arthur's hands, trying to pull them away from him. It comes as no surprise that Arthur refuses to let go, though Merlin is slowly starting to realise what all of this might be about.

"It was a lie of omission, I'll give you that," Arthur allows. "But you should have _told_ me!"

"How?!" Merlin asks, dropping his hands back down to his sides. "How was I meant to tell you that you drank a love potion that made you fall in love with the first person you saw?! That it made. It made—"

"That it made me fall in love with _you_ ," Arthur finishes for him, finally loosening his grip. Merlin slides down the wall and buries his face in his hands.

The tears are back; he's been doing _such_ a good job at holding them back recently. It's just like Arthur, to come in and make a mess of things just as Merlin managed to get a grip on himself—first with the kiss, and now _this_.

He doesn't know how he'll ever be able to look Arthur in the eye again, not now that he's remembered the… the… the _relationship_ they shared, not after the kiss Arthur initiated, not after Merlin _rejected_ him.

"So it wasn't disgust, then?" Arthur asks after a moment of silence, gently taking hold of Merlin's wrists and moving his hands away from his face. Merlin tries to duck his head and keep him from seeing the tears, but Arthur's eyes track them as they slide down his cheeks. Merlin startles when he brushes them away with his thumbs. "When I kissed you yesterday. It wasn't disgust?"

He sounds so hopeful, _looks_ so hopeful, that it makes Merlin's stomach churn.

Because he has to tell the truth now, doesn't he? Arthur must have already managed to figure out a fair bit on his own, but there are still things he doesn't— _couldn't_ —know.

"It wasn't disgust," Merlin says, steadfastly avoiding Arthur's gaze. He puts his hands in his lap and pulls on his fingers, unsure of the best way to put what he wants to say. "I was surprised, I suppose. And shocked. I didn't understand why you would just come out and kiss me like that, not after…"

"You thought I was enchanted again," Arthur says. He moves one hand to the back of Merlin's head and leans their foreheads together.

"I still do," Merlin admits. "The last time you gave any indication of feeling something for me, you were enchanted—and before you interrupt, don't worry, Gaius and I dealt with it—and then we gave you the antidote and everything went back to normal, except that you _kissed_ me yesterday, and all I can think about is that thrice damned _love potion_ and that you're probably enchanted again, and I _can't_ go through this a second time! I can't, Arthur! I was barely able to bear it the first time around; I don't know what I'll do if—" he cuts himself off before he says too much, though going by the look on Arthur's face, he already has.

"It's real," Arthur insists, tightening his grip on Merlin's wrists ever so slightly. "And I'll prove it to you. Make the antidote you made last time and I'll drink it."

"Arthur…" Merlin whispers, because that's the same exact thing he would say if he _were_ enchanted, isn't it? It's so similar to everything he told Merlin last time, all the 'I love you's and 'I want you's, and as much as he longs to hear those words come from Arthur's lips again, he's been thoroughly disillusioned.

"Go make the antidote, Merlin." Arthur stands up and pulls him to his feet. He's so stubborn, so _adamant_ about this, that Merlin doesn't have the heart to refuse him.

Honestly, it's for the better. If it _does_ turn out that Arthur unwittingly drank something, at least Merlin won't have to go around trying to sneak antidotes into his wine goblets. This way, there's much less fuss.

He ignores the part of him that hopes that this time, maybe Arthur's feelings are _real_. Maybe it's not a spell nor a potion; maybe Arthur really _does_ feel something for him, something that goes beyond friendship.

Thank goodness Gaius isn't here. His eyebrow would have risen high enough to fly off his forehead by now.

With a sigh, Merlin walks off in the direction off the door, slightly surprised to see that it's still on its hinges, what with how harshly Arthur slammed it against the wall. When Merlin sends a raised eyebrow his way, and Arthur stares back, entirely unrepentant.

Merlin heads straight for the book with the recipe he used last time, entirely uncaring of the fact that it’s in large part a book about _magic_. Arthur's never liked reading; there's little chance he'll actually bother flitting through the pages, no matter _how_ bored he is.

And indeed, as Merlin starts walking around the room, gathering the ingredients he's going to need, the only thing Arthur does is watch him. Merlin blushes right to the roots of his hair when he realises that Arthur's gaze travels down to his backside more often than not.

He doesn't tell Arthur to stop.

It's a matter of minutes to get all of the ingredients chopped and mixed together in a cauldron of boiling water. He and Arthur sit in front of the fire in silence, waiting for the tincture to boil, and then, when it's done, for it to cool down enough for Arthur to be able to drink it. When Arthur looks away from him, Merlin takes the opportunity to enhance it with a spell.

The situation is all too reminiscent of the last time this happened, when he sat Arthur down and gave him a vial and told him to drink up. As much as he would like to, Merlin can't stop his hands from shaking as he strains the tincture. When he passes it to Arthur, he can't quite bear to look him in the eye.

"This is it?" Arthur asks, taking the cup. He sniffs it and makes a face, which—fair enough. It could definitely do to smell a bit better, though it's no worse than Gaius's hangover remedies, and Arthur has already drunk those enough times.

"Yeah. Bottoms up." Merlin tries to smile, but even without seeing his own face, he can tell it looks more like a grimace. Arthur blinks up at him once, then again, before squaring his shoulders. He looks more like he's preparing himself for battle rather than drinking a potion, right down to the determined expression on his face.

Arthur exhales roughly, and with one swift movement, he brings the cup to his lips and downs its contents. Merlin can't tear his eyes away from Arthur's face, wanting—masochistically—to see the moment the potion takes effect. It didn’t take long last time.

And yet time goes on, and he and Arthur keep staring at each other, neither saying a word, until Arthur finally sighs, rolls his eyes, and puts the cup on the table, far enough away so that neither of them will accidentally knock it over.

"Can I kiss you now?" Arthur asks, tilting his head to the side, the beginnings of a smile on his face. Merlin stares at him, wide-eyed and unmoving. His heart is beating so hard in his chest, he fears it might end up breaking his ribs.

Because the potion should have worked by now, right? It's been… well, he's not exactly sure how long it's been, but he's certain more than enough time has passed for it to have kicked in, except Arthur is still… he's still…

"It must not have worked," Merlin says, furrowing his eyebrows. He racks his brain for an explanation. Maybe he got the ingredients wrong, or the spell he cast was too weak, or maybe this time, it's a completely different love spell, and maybe it requires a completely different cure, or—

"Merlin," Arthur groans. Never once breaking eye contact, he reaches out and puts his hands on Merlin's hips, bringing all of his thoughts to a grinding halt. He's had Arthur's hands on him before, more times than he can count over the span of that one week, but it feels different now— far more intimate. When Arthur's fingers delve beneath the waistband of his breaches, it comes across as impatient, whereas last time, he was perfectly happy to let Merlin set the pace.

And gods, Merlin _wants_. He _wants_ Arthur to tear his clothes off, to throw him down onto the bed and ravage him. He _wants_ Arthur's kisses and embraces and 'I love you's. He doesn't think he's ever wanted _anything_ as much as he wants Arthur.

But by the gods, after the previous debacle, he never thought his feelings could ever be reciprocated—and yet here Arthur is, sitting before him, looking up at Merlin as though he hung not just the moon, but also the stars.

"I don't understand," he whispers, taking Arthur's face into his hands for what he hopes isn't going to be the last time.

"There's nothing to understand," Arthur says. He tugs Merlin closer by the grip he has on his hips, until Merlin's standing in between his thighs and Arthur can lean in and place his forehead against Merlin's stomach. "They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder," he adds with a rough chuckle. "All those days you spent avoiding me, they were unbearable. I never thought it was possible to miss someone that much. Every day I woke up feeling as though there was a part of me missing. God, I went out and got _drunk_ of all things, and all I remember is that I spent the whole time complaining about how much I miss you."

"I know," Merlin says, stroking his fingers through Arthur's hair. "I saw."

"When?" Arthur asks. When Merlin doesn't reply right away, he looks up at him in obvious confusion. "I don't remember seeing you there."

"By the time I got there you weren't seeing much at all," Merlin replies dryly. "It's a wonder you managed to stay on your feet long enough to make it back to the castle."

"I don't remember that either." Arthur sighs, his shoulders drooping.

"It would have been weird if you did. Gwaine said he lost track of how much ale you drank."

"So did I," Arthur groans. "But enough about that. I didn't come here to talk about Gwaine or my drunken ramblings."

"No, I suppose you didn't," Merlin says, stilling his movements. "But Arthur, I—"

"I know you feel the same way, Merlin," Arthur says before he can get another word out. "I _remember_. _I_ may have been enchanted, but you weren't, so don't stand there and tell me that you don't feel the same way when I know for a _fact_ that you do."

"I wasn't going to," Merlin tells him, voice wavering.

" _And_ ," Arthur continues as though he hasn't heard him. "I let you feed me that vile tincture, and it did _nothing_ , which means that I am _not_ enchanted, which in turn means that you need to stop trying to convince the both of us that my feelings aren't real."

"I didn't day they weren't real," Merlin protests half-heartedly. "I just…"

"You don't want to believe it," Arthur guesses. He clears his throat—a nervous habit of his that Merlin is all too familiar with—before continuing to speak. "I know I hurt you last time—"

"If anyone did the hurting, it was me," Merlin murmurs. "You weren't in your right mind, and I took advantage—"

"You didn't!" Arthur insists. "Stop beating yourself up over this. We both fell victim to this, even though I was the only one who was actually enchanted."

"I suppose," Merlin says after a few tense seconds, letting his hands drop back down to his sides.

"You got hurt." Arthur looks him in the eyes. "And you're afraid it's going to happen again." He must take Merlin's silence for an answer, because he nods once, then stands up, his hands sliding up from Merlin's hips, to his waist, then around to his back. "I promise it's not a potion this time. Nor a love spell, nor any of the other explanations you've come up with."

Arthur sounds so convinced, so _certain_ of his words that it almost makes Merlin want to cry. Because if Arthur is this convinced, then maybe…

Maybe this time, it _is_ real.

"Kiss me, then," Merlin whispers, leaning in close and letting his breath brush over Arthur's lips. The sound of Arthur's relieved laugh makes his heart soar, makes his own lips curl up into a smile.

When Arthur kisses him, lips warm and rough and insistent against Merlin's own, his knees almost give out. He’s missed this so much—the heat of Arthur against him, the touch of his skin, his lips…

There's nothing in the world that could compare to this. _Nothing_.

Arthur doesn't pull away until they're both starved for breath, and even then, he doesn't go far. His pupils are blown, his lips red and wet and swollen. The sight of him makes Merlin want to lean in and kiss him again, and since there's nothing stopping him, he does. He keeps going until Arthur pushes him away with a laugh when he needs to catch his breath again.

"Not a love potion, then?" Merlin asks, just to see Arthur roll his eyes at him.

"No," he says with an annoyed sigh. "Do you need me to drink another one of those vile concoctions to prove it to you?"

And he would, wouldn't he, if Merlin asked? It’s tempting, though more because he wants to mess with Arthur, not because he doesn't believe him.

"I suppose not," he breathes against Arthur's lips. "So, you've been pining?" he asks, grinning when Arthur opens his mouth in protest. "No no no, don't take it back now. You've been pining after me, you said so yourself."

"I didn't say I was _pining_ ," Arthur grumbles. "Just that I missed you."

"Pining," Merlin insists.

"Oh please, it's not like you were doing any better, now is it?" Arthur crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively. "What with just how far you went out of your way to avoid me."

"Oh, course I was." Merlin reaches for Arthur's hand and takes it in his own. Not breaking eye contact, he presses the back of Arthur's hand to his lips, watching with satisfaction as colour blooms across Arthur's cheeks.

"Bed?" Arthur asks, his voice sounding just this side of strangled. Merlin doesn't even get the chance to reply before Arthur is tugging him back to Merlin's room. He follows easily, giddy with the anticipation.

The furthest they've gone was kissing and sleeping in the same bed. Merlin can't fight down the grin nor the blush that's risen to his cheeks. He has his hands on the hem of Arthur's tunic before the door has even closed behind them, and then he's pulling it up and over Arthur's head and dropping it to the floor at the foot of the bed. He reaches out to do the same to Arthur's breeches, but Arthur stops him before Merlin can get his fingers around the laces.

"You first," Arthur insists, his voice low and husky in a way that has Merlin's cock filling in his trousers. Under Arthur's watchful gaze, he redirects his hands towards his own tunic, then the belt and breeches and boots and socks. Arthur raises an eyebrow when he realises Merlin isn't wearing any smalls.

"I ran out of clean clothes," Merlin says, ducking his head to avoid seeing Arthur's smirk. "And I didn't have time to do my laundry with everything that's been going on."

"Didn't have time or couldn’t be bothered to?" Arthur asks, leaning in to scrape his teeth along the edge of Merlin's jaw. The sensation has Merlin hissing and it becomes all the better when Arthur starts planting little kisses atop his skin, trailing them all the way up to his ear, then down his neck.

Merlin never knew someone else's touch could feel so good, especially when Arthur finds that one unfairly sensitive spot at the base of his neck. Knees feeling like they're about to give out, Merlin puts one hand on the back of Arthur's head and tugs him closer, silently asking for more.

Arthur obliges, sucking and nipping his skin, no doubt leaving behind a large spot of red that Merlin will have to hide under his neckerchief later. When he takes a step forward, wanting to get closer to Arthur, his cock brushes up against Arthur's own hard length.

"Off," Merlin says, using one hand to tug on Arthur's waistband. "Now."

"Aren't you demanding." Arthur laughs, his breath warm and wet against Merlin's skin, but he obediently pulls away and gets to removing the remainder of his clothing. When he's finally standing before Merlin completely naked, Merlin puts his arms on Arthur's shoulders and pushes him towards the bed.

"I want to ride you," he says, settling atop Arthur's thighs, watching as his pupils grow so wide that the blue almost disappears.

"God, Merlin," Arthur groans, placing his hands on Merlin's hips. "You'll be the death of me." He steadies Merlin as he reaches for the bedside table, where he stashes the oil. Arthur raises an eyebrow when he sees the small container is only half-full.

He takes the oil from Merlin and dips his fingers in it, then slowly reaches around Merlin and touches his entrance. When Merlin nods, he pushes in.

It's been a while since the last time he did this, so it takes Merlin a second to get used to the feeling of having something up his arse. Arthur stays still all throughout, watching Merlin's face carefully. When Merlin experimentally rolls his hip and the finger brushes up against that too-good spot, he gasps. Arthur takes that as permission to move, because he crooks his finger and starts rubbing it against Merlin's prostate. The other hand he wraps around Merlin’s weeping cock.

"More," Merlin demands when one finger stops being enough. He moans when Arthur pushes one more in, then another after that. "Come _on_ ," he says, when even that stops being enough.

"You ready for my cock, then?" Arthur asks, smirk still firmly on his face. Merlin leans down to kiss it off his lips, whimpering when the change in position makes Arthur's fingers glide over his prostate again. Reaching back, Merlin grabs Arthur's wrist and pulls his fingers out. His hole clenches around nothing, so the next thing he does is slather oil all over Arthur's cock and position it at his entrance.

"Ready?" Merlin asks, sitting back up. He doesn't wait for a reply and sinks down onto Arthur's cock. His body welcomes the stretch, _relishes_ it. When the entirety of Arthur’s length is buried inside him, Merlin gives himself a second to breathe. Arthur is staring up at him, wide-eyed, with his hands placed firmly upon Merlin's hips.

With slow, stilted movements, Arthur plants his feet on the bed, giving Merlin something to lean against. His back against Arthur's thighs, Merlin clenches around Arthur's cock and puts one hand on his own length. He swirls his hips once, then again, biting down on his bottom lip when the movement sends pleasure jolting up his spine.

Then, he starts to move.

It's so good, and he feels so pleasantly full. Arthur doesn't waste another second now that Merlin's started moving; he thrusts his hips upwards in tandem with Merlin's movements. The bed creaks beneath them, and with each movement, the headboard bangs against the wall.

Merlin works his hand over his cock in time with Arthur's thrusts, swiping his thumb over the head on each pull upwards, spreading the precome over his length. It feels so good with Arthur, so much better than it ever did with anyone else; it's incomparable to all the times he did this to himself.

Closing his eyes, Merlin undulates his hips. Arthur thrusts up into him again and again, more forcefully each time, making him gasp. When Arthur's hand comes up and wraps around Merlin's own on his cock, it startles him into opening his eyes. Arthur is looking up at him, pupils blown, lips and cheeks red, hair in disarray, and Merlin can't quite stop himself from leaning down and kissing him.

It isn't much of a surprise when Arthur takes the opportunity to flip them over—there's a moment of panic when they almost fall off the too narrow bed—and then Merlin is lying on his back with Arthur between his legs, all gorgeous and sweaty, and fucking into Merlin with abandon.

The pleasure rises and crests quickly; it takes no more than a few strokes of Merlin's cock before he's coming all over their joined hands, his hole rippling around Arthur's length. It pulls Arthur's own orgasm from him, and his hips slam into Merlin's arse one last time before he comes inside him.

Merlin winces when Arthur withdraws and collapses next to him on the bed, sated. He grabs the corner of the bedsheet to wipe himself off, then turns over onto his side and puts his head down on Arthur's chest, smiling when Arthur reflexively brings up clean his hand and runs his fingers through Merlin's hair.

"That was…" Arthur breathes, sounding a bit out of it.

"Amazing? Astounding? Incredible?" Merlin supplies, throwing his leg over one of Arthur's to make sure he won't be getting out of the bed anytime soon. He grimaces when the movement has Arthur's come trickling out of his arse.

"I think incredible works." Arthur laughs, planting a soft kiss on the top of Merlin's head. Merlin winds one of his arms around Arthur's waist in return.

"Stay?" he asks. "It's still early, and you have nothing on your schedule this morning."

"I have to oversee the knights' training." Arthur groans. He moves as if to sit up, but Merlin refuses to let him go.

"They can manage without you for a day." He's not above begging, not when they're both lying in bed, sated and warm.

"But—"

Merlin shuts him up by leaning up and planting a kiss on his lips. It turns heated quickly; Merlin's cock twitches against Arthur's hip, eager for a second round.

Actually, more sex isn't a bad idea. Merlin trails his fingers from Arthur's side, over his stomach and his cock. Judging by the state of it, Arthur wouldn't say no to a second round either. Wrapping his fingers around it, Merlin starts stroking Arthur's slowly hardening length, right up until Arthur pushes him away and onto his back again, pinning Merlin's hands to the mattress on either side of his head.

"You can have your way with me in the bath," Arthur says, leaning down so that their foreheads touch. "I'm all sweaty and disgusting, and you're no better."

"You're not kicking me out of the bed to go arrange a bath." Merlin would have crossed his arms if they weren't held so tightly in Arthur's grip.

"You do realise," Arthur says, adopting the same tone he uses when he calls Merlin an idiot. "That there are plenty of servants in this castle besides yourself?"

Merlin blinks up at him slowly. "Yes."

"And that I can order one of them to arrange a bath?" Arthur continues, tilting his head to the side, and looking down at Merlin as though he's being particularly dim.

Which, granted.

"Go order it, then." Merlin says, attempting to shrug. "Clearly, I'm in no state to be moving about right now." Not unless Arthur wants to watch him walking around with a limp—though he probably would. He'd likely take pride in seeing it, too, the possessive prat.

"I suppose that means you want me to carry you up to my chambers?" Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Merlin growls, narrowing his eyes.

"It's still early. Chances are, there's no one about."

Merlin isn't sure he likes this teasing glint that's entered Arthur's eyes, nor the amused smirk. He opens his mouth, ready to voice his protests, but Arthur starts speaking again before Merlin can figure out how words work.

"I'd wrap you up in a sheet and throw you over my shoulder," Arthur whispers into his ear, his warm breath making Merlin shiver. "Walk down the corridors with you struggling to get out of my grip."

Merlin whimpers at the image Arthur's words invoke. He can see it in his mind, clear as day—the servants, the guards, the courtiers, all staring at him with thinly-veiled shock, averting their gaze when Arthur's eyes meet theirs. He can just imagine the sheet slipping ever so slightly from his body, baring the hand-shaped bruises on his hips and the love bite at the base of his neck.

Cock hardening again, Merlin thrusts his hips upwards, searching for friction—any friction really. His own hand or Arthur's or—

Or Arthur's mouth, as it turns out.

Never once letting go of Merlin's wrists, not for a second, Arthur sinks down on Merlin's cock, taking as much of it in his mouth as he can. It takes no time at all for it to harden completely, for Arthur to have to move his grip to Merlin's hips rather than his hands. He holds them down, keeping Merlin from thrusting up and taking his pleasure into his own hands.

Merlin's second orgasm leaves him boneless. He lies on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and distantly wondering how it’s possible for something to feel so good. He barely registers Arthur leaving the bed and putting his clothes back on, and only reacts when he hears the door open.

"I'll be right back," Arthur promises when he catches Merlin staring after him. The door quietly closes behind him; Merlin can barely make out the sound of Arthur's bare feet hitting the floor as he walks towards the door leading out of Gaius's chambers. There's a shout, then a murmured exchange that Merlin can't quite make out.

Merlin closes his eyes and only opens them again when Arthur crawls back into bed, sitting down at Merlin's side.

"Let's have you, lazy daisy," he says, smiling down at Merlin softly. "The bath is waiting."

When Arthur holds out his hand, Merlin takes it.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warning:** dub-con kissing


End file.
